


Intrusive Thoughts

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comedy, Dirty Thoughts, Getting Together, M/M, Objectification, Pre-Slash, Remix, Temporary telepathy, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Unwanted Sexual Fantasies, america's ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: When Steve is hit with a spell that gives him temporary telepathy, Tony figures he can hide his mortifying crush on the good Captain by thinking dirty thoughts featuring each of the Avengers in turn. After all, if he’s objectifying everyone, Steve will never figure out Tony is in love with him.That’s the theory anyway.Remix of “Before you jump, Tell me what you find (When you read my mind)” by Fluffypanda. For the 2020 Cap-IronMan Remix Madness.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 433
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Madness





	Intrusive Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fluffypanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffypanda/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Before you jump, Tell me what you find (When you read my mind)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308211) by [Fluffypanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffypanda/pseuds/Fluffypanda). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Fluffypanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffypanda/pseuds/Fluffypanda) in the [2020_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2020_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness) collection. 



> In Fluffypanda’s original, Tony doesn’t know about Cap’s telepathy, and Steve finds him to be very measured, reasonable, and thoughtful. It’s well-done and showcases the disconnect between Tony’s inner thoughtfulness and his seemingly thoughtless comments. In this version Steve gives everyone fair warning of his new-found powers, and in a panic to hide his feelings, Tony goes way, way overboard to throw Steve off the scent, because he’s kind of an overdramatic bitch.

If Tony hadn’t been so freaked out, he might have been a little flattered that Steve had chosen to confide in him first. Of course, that was likely a practical consideration on Cap’s part, seeing as how Tony is the resident genius.

This is quite possibly – and Tony is not exaggerating even a little when he contemplates this – the worst possible thing that has ever happened to the team, and yes, he is counting Ultron in that statement. At least Vision came out of that fiasco, so it sort of balanced out as a whole, but a telepathic Steve Rogers? Now that is an emergency of catastrophic proportions. The implications alone–

“I don’t really think it’s all that bad, Tony,” Steve tells him, shrugging as if this is only a slight inconvenience, a small hiccup in the road of life and Avenging in general. “It could have been worse. I could have been turned into a squid monster.”

_Fuck._

“Language.”

“Thoughts don’t count, Cap,” Tony says aloud, for the benefit of his sanity.

“That’s fair. It’s not like you can control it.”

_Like hell I can’t._

Steve looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it.

 _Stop reading my thoughts, Cap. This is some real 1984-level shit right here. It has to be a violation of my civil rights. Think of America and freedom and all that good stuff,_ Tony thinks very hard and very pointedly at Steve. _In trying times such as these, we must ask ourselves: ‘What would Uncle Sam do?’_

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t go traipsing through your mind on purpose. I’ll try to stay out best I can.”

It does nothing to assuage his fears.

This is precisely why Tony _hates_ magic.

* * *

Steve’s little (massive, apocalyptic) problem is easy to forget, at least at first.

Tony has always been an ass-man, and Cap has a mighty fine one. In the past, Tony… Well, he wouldn’t exactly stare, but he’d catch a glimpse here and there when Steve wasn’t looking, just enough to appreciate the power and musculature of the man’s best asset in a variety of outfits: workout pants, jeans, trousers, basically anything that wasn’t the S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued Captain America suit. Whoever designed that monstrosity should be taken out back and shot for treason probably.

It was a harmless pastime, a little fantasy that Tony would indulge in every once in a while, as a treat for making it through the day without throttling Clint or pushing Pepper to the brink of homicidal rage with his antics.

Or at least it had been, so long as Steve never caught wind of it.

And so it happens that when Steve had walked through the kitchen and Tony had been leaning against the counter, sipping at his espresso and making his daily appraisal of Cap’s ass – rather harmlessly he might add – Steve’s face had lit up like a particularly muscly Christmas tree and turned to Tony questioningly.

_Fuck._

Tony immediately checks out Clint’s ass behind Steve, comparing its size and hypothetical squeezability favorably to Steve’s while falsely denigrating Steve’s (admittedly superior) ass. Tony likes to think of himself as an honest man, a premier connoisseur of the human backside, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

 _Nice._ Tony thinks as loudly as possible while making direct eye contact with Clint’s rounded – but still not as voluptuous – derriere. _Even better than Cap’s,_ though the falsehood makes him die a little inside.

It seems to work, as Steve looks a little ~~miffed~~ ~~put-out~~ relieved(?) at the comparison. Unbidden, the errant thought of Tony caressing those plump mounds passes through his mind, and Tony hopes Steve can’t pick up images as part of his temporary telepathy.

One look at Steve tells him he has no such luck, as the man’s ears burn red. So, with more effort than should have been necessary, Tony deliberately supplants the image of Steve with Clint, turning this little fantasy into a weird threesome with Steve as the voyeuristic third.

_Your ass is safe from me…_

Steve looks confused.

_Unlike Clint’s._

The poor man bolts out of the common area, unable to handle the images bombarding his psyche.

Tony is so fucked.

* * *

One would think that after such a close-call, Tony would exercise more caution around Steve, become hypervigilant regarding the nature of his thoughts, always ready at a moment’s notice to scrub them clean, like keeping a stack of kitten photos or pictures of his own Nonna in the back of his mind as a sort of brain bleach, but to assume such a thing would be to underestimate the contrary depravity of Tony’s mind. In short, the more he tells himself not to do something, the more his mind wants to do exactly that.

In the gym, Steve’s athletic shorts had been a little tighter across the front than had been optimal – God bless 1940s sportswear – which inspired a whole new slew of fantasies where Steve bends Tony over the bench press he is currently using and has his way with him. Tony envisions every wet slap of flesh against flesh, the low moans, the smell of musky sex, the heft of Cap’s dick ramming into him, all in high-definition detail, his imagination filling in any missing details from a veritable treasure trove of experiences with other partners.

Steve nearly drops the barbell on his neck. Good thing Thor had been spotting him. He catches the bar, returning it to the cradle as Steve sits up on the edge of the bench press.

“Are you alright, Steve Rogers? You appear to be unwell,” Thor tells him with more than a little concern.

Snapped out of his sex-induced stupor, Tony quickly morphs the target of his fantasies to Thor, imagining the God of Thunder hammering into him with reckless abandon (but with much less detail than his fantasy of Steve).

Where innocuous brain bleach fails, mental pornography involving his fellow teammates provides quite the good cover.

Steve blushes. “I’m alright, Thor. Just… slipped,” he explains, wiping his sweating palms on his shorts while crouched over his center. “I just need a minute to collect myself, but I think I’m done for the day.”

* * *

It becomes a PROBLEM.

Tony is on high alert, always having a sexual fantasy involving anyone but Steve on standby. Just in case.

He had already imagined a threesome with Nat and Steve during Avengers movie night when Steve had been sitting a little too close to Nat (and a little too far from Tony). And then there was the whole Hulk-smash fantasy that was downright impressive and unusually mortifying to all parties involved. (Realistically, satisfying the Hulk would be a team effort, if ever there was one, and Tony’s imagination is not one to skimp on the logistics of such an undertaking.)

But these precautions are necessary, Tony must periodically remind himself. If he objectifies everyone, fantasizes about everyone, then there’s no way Steve will discover Tony’s embarrassing preference for him above all others. Tony’s secrets must remain as such, for the good of the team and Tony’s own ego. After all, Steve can’t reject him if he doesn’t know the truth.

That’s the theory anyway.

Unfortunately, Tony had never anticipated how much thinking about sex would become such a chore when he is forced to do it for self-preservation. Tony loves sex. His team is remarkably attractive. This should be a cake walk. But Tony finds himself wishing he could think of something else for a spell: a warm pair of socks, a nice design for a new type of solar panel that optimized energy capture, the perfect cup of coffee… without considering how Steve Rogers would look in that pair of socks and nothing else, how that solar panel could run a Sybian, and the aphrodisiac properties of coffee. If only Steve Rogers wasn’t such a sexy beast or if Tony had been allowed to have such thoughts unimpeded, perhaps he wouldn’t be so horny for the man (and by extension everyone else).

It all comes to a head when Steve and Tony are called into Fury’s office for a debrief on their latest mission. Tony had been fine at first, and then Steve had stood up to write something on the white board, and Tony’s gaze naturally settled on his ass, the source of Tony’s suffering. Immediately, as had become second nature by that point, he imagines himself fucking the only other person in the room: Director Nick Fury.

Steve drops his dry-erase marker just as Tony mentally recoils from the image, trying to wipe his thoughts with literally anything else: puppies, rainbows, Nonna’s hugs – _no! No human contact_ – cheeseburgers – _ugh, who can eat at a time like this?_ – um… the color green? _Yeah… that’s the stuff._

_Okay, now we’re back in business._

Steve asks to see Tony after. Alone.

_Fuck._

They duck into an empty conference room, taking two seats next to each other. Steve is silent for a moment. He looks a little ill and more than a little concerned as he addresses the root of the issue: “I don’t mean to pry, but if you’re struggling with intrusive thoughts–”

“Intrusive thoughts?” Tony begins to sweat as fear spikes through his very core.

“About… you know,” Steve drops his voice. “Your near-constant stream of inappropriate sexual fantasies. I thought Hawkeye was bad, but you–”

“Stay out of my head, Cap,” Tony retorts, throwing up his hands. “This isn’t Big Brother. Thoughtcrime is still fictional, and I don’t think I’d do well with Crimestop anyway.” He’d been attempting it unsuccessfully for such a long time as it is. Fat lot of good it did him.

Now Steve looks sympathetic, and Tony can’t decide if that’s worse. “It’s just… I can tell it causes you a lot of anxiety,” Steve says diplomatically.

“You can hear that, too?” Fuck, does Tony have to contend with managing his emotions as well as his active thoughts.

“You don’t have to do anything, Tony,” Steve replies, inspiring another wave of misery from Tony. “I try to stay out of the fuzzy-emotional background noise, but you don’t need to be a mind reader to see how anxious you are when you have these thoughts. The strange thing is you’re not even enjoying it most of the time. You kind of approach the entire enterprise with a sort of weariness and resignation that I get from doing paperwork. I mean, just now, with Fury–”

“Up-pup-up, Cap,” Tony says, popping his p’s. “I’m gonna stop you right there. That’s private.”

“I’m just saying these thoughts are clearly unwanted and causing you a lot of duress, and… well, if it’s a problem, then there are people who can help you. Professionals. I’ve been doing some reading, and I don’t know if it’s obsessive compulsive disorder or maybe a sex addiction–”

“I do _not_ have a sex addiction,” Tony declares, borderline offended. Steve actually thinks–

“Tony, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. These thoughts are intrusive, and not a measure of who you are as a person, but if they’re causing you mental distress, I’m just saying help is available. You don’t have to suffer alone. I’m here for you,” Steve says, placing a friendly hand on Tony’s shoulder, and… and well, Tony can’t help it. Perhaps it _is_ habitual now, almost instinctual even, but he imagines Steve pushing down until Tony is kneeling in front of him. In his mind’s eye, Tony reaches out to palm Steve’s growing erection, slowly unzipping his pants to–

Cap retracts his touch almost immediately, his face turning an interesting shade of scarlet. He coughs to cover the strangled sound emanating from his throat.

Huh. Maybe Tony does have an ‘intrusive thoughts’ problem.

* * *

Paradoxically, after his tete-a-tete with Steve, Tony feels somewhat free to have sexual fantasies starring Steve alone. The man simply assumes they’re part of Tony’s condition, whether it is an addiction or compulsion, and he graciously tries to not have it affect their friendship.

And so, when Steve is down in the labs with Tony, idling away at his sketchbook while sitting across the room on the pull-out couch Tony sometimes slept in, Tony takes a moment (after he finishes a design he had asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to fabricate) to appreciate the fine line of Steve’s form, particularly along the muscles of his back and shoulders. He imagines those powerful arms lifting him up and pinning his body against the glass windows of the tower, spreading his legs wide as Steve settles between, unzips his pants, and–

Steve coughs and carefully repositions his sketchbook over his lap, the blush blooming from the apples of his cheeks down the collar of his shirt.

“Sorry about that, Cap,” Tony says.

“It’s fine,” he croaks out, his voice unusually husky. “Perfectly fine.”

_That’s interesting._

“You okay there?”

“I’m fine.”

Tony looks over, observing the tension in Steve’s body as well as the placement of his sketchbook to hide his–

_Oh._

“It’s nothing,” Steve insists, but he’s not particularly convincing.

“Cap, it’s only natural.”

Steve doesn’t even try to deny it. “It’s wrong. You have a condition, and I shouldn’t…”

_You’re getting off on this._

“I should go,” Steve says, but he doesn’t move from his seat, probably waiting for little Steven to calm the hell down.

 _Stay,_ Tony immediately, instinctively thinks. _Can’t you see I want you, too?_

“…What?”

“Um…” _Quick, think of something to say,_ “I want you, too, Cap.” _Not THAT. Way too honest. Pull yourself together, Stark. People who say honesty is the best policy are lying liars who lie._

Tony can’t seem to suppress the train of thoughts fast enough.

_Oh, Fuck._

_Fuck me._

“You sure?”

Tony didn’t mean it like that, but “…Yes?”

“Um… would you like to get dinner first?” Steve offers, shuffling his feet a bit.

“Okay.” _There’s this little diner a few blocks over with the best cheeseburgers._

“Sounds great.” Steve stands, gathering his things and walking over to Tony’s workstation. “You want to go right now?”

Tony shrugs. “Why the hell not,” and when he takes Steve’s proffered hand, interlacing their fingers together, he feels a wellspring of excitement and pure unadulterated love for the man beside him.

Steve’s eyes widen. “How long have you felt that way?”

“I don’t know.” _Forever._

Steve simply smiles. He raises his free hand to Tony’s chin, lifting it slightly to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

Tony doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what Steve is thinking, so he steps in closer, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and pulling their bodies flush together.

And there are no more words between them, only the thrumming of their heartbeats and the soft _Mine-Mine-Mine-Mine_ tumbling through Tony’s mind.


End file.
